Paint on the Walls
by Beware of the Fluffy Ones
Summary: It was the girl that needed saving, and a sacrifice that needed giving. Loki would do this, and more, for his son.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Thor.

Notes: This is a companion story to Completely Enough. You don't need to have read the first story to follow this one.

**Paint on the Walls**

_Prologue_

Sven had a small scar on his arm. A token from an adventure in his childhood—at least that's how he thought of it. Loki would never tell his son that, even at fifteen, he was still considered a child.

Still, the Darcy look alike took courage from the mark he had obtained when he was younger. Sven, with all his curls and grins, looked at the scar, looked at the wide doors in front of him, and made a decision. One that his father would hate, but would have done the same in his position.

Sven placed his hands on the wooden engraved doors, closed his eyes, and concentrated on slowing his heart. A bird chirruped somewhere and the half-ling was acutely aware of all the little things he was leaving behind. Light splashing across the tiles. Hearing his sister's giggling laughs. The smiles his father gave when he thought no one was looking. His mother's warm arms. His cat's purring. The sensation of wood grain digging into his palms, even now, as he was alive and breathing.

He opened his eyes and used his young muscles to push the doors open.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Thor.

Loki had adapted well to life on Midgard. He was content with his Darling Wife and Little Kids That Happened To Have Popped Into Existence, and he was more than happy to ignore whatever life continued on at Asgard. Adventures happened, people went in and out of his life as quaint humans were wont to do, and Loki thought that, after all the evil in his pre-Darcy days, his world had settled down and things would never truly change.

He hadn't counted on Amy. And he hadn't figured love into the equation of life.

Darcy knew. She knew almost from the start. She recognized Sven's wistful looks across the pond and into the neighbors yard. These looks were instantly remembered because she had been on the receiving end of them years ago, back when Sven's father had a penchant for capes and mischief.

_Well, _Darcy silently corrected herself, _he still likes his mischief. _Loki recently had been teaching their daughter Egyptian history, and things had gotten out of hand when a mummy and some tourists got involved. Sarai was more than happy to giggle at her father's antics, further fueling his fire.

"Would you like to go outside?" Darcy glanced at her eldest and pretended she didn't know anything as she opened the back door to let the family's over-sized cat in. "I'm sure the new girl on our street would like someone to play with." She sneaked another glance at Sven and let the door close shut, blinds hitting the window panes with a satisfying _smack._ She went out the front door to walk down the dirt road to collect the mail. When she peeked back into the kitchen on her way to Loki's study, the dinner chair her son had been sitting in was empty.

Darcy suppressed a laugh and went to give her husband another angry letter from his editor asking _where _the next book was and _why _it was late and _if _it was even coming.

Loki caught his wife's contagious mood, the letter was discarded, and the household was happy.

Save for Sven.

He never forgot his first meeting with Amy.

She had just moved into the empty house next door and Darcy had sent him and Sarai to welcome the new child. She had a nasty American accent, wild hair and a freckled nose, but she was kind to Rai-rai so Sven figured they would all get along smashingly.

But then she uncovered a book from one of the brown boxes and opened the page to a picture of a red-haired god and an eight-legged horse.

"He's the god of fire," Amy looked at the new boy seriously, "and this is his son. He's a horse. Though mom won't tell me how he had a horse. A horse for a kid, I mean. Do you know?" She peered up at Sven. He was always taller than her. Even through the awkward years of junior high he had been taller.

Sven blushed and Sarai laughed, only half getting the joke.

"But Loki doesn't have red hair," She managed to say, glancing between her blushing brother and the funny American. Sarai's eyes danced, forever looking like they held a secret. Sven had wished his eyes could smile like that but, when his mother told him he grinned like his father, decided he was fine with his inheritance.

Amy slammed the book shut, already moving onto the next exploit. "Do you have frogs in the pond?" she demanded.

Sven nodded.

"Good!" She smiled and a few laughs escaped her mouth.

It was the laugh that was his undoing. So much like his mother's and beloved sisters, but unique to the blasé shrimp of a girl. He had tried not to be impressed with the fact she was unknowingly interested in his family, but when she laughed he, like his father before him, suddenly lost his heart to a Midgardian.

Stupid girls and their stupid cuteness.

He ducked his head and followed after the girl who was running away with his heart.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Thor.

They went to school together. Amy ended up being in his grade and, with Rai-rai in tow, the three were inseparable.

Loki thought it was simply childish friendship. He had experienced the same thing with Sigyn and Sif and didn't think anything of it. The years passed with the occasional adventure (most were hidden from The Darling Wife). Loki taught Sven how to draw magic from his heart to his hand and create life or destroy it, and Amy wandered in and out of the house like an adopted daughter.

He noticed the change in his son immediately, though. Even before the door slammed, even before he heard the stomping of teenage feet up the stairs, he felt the change.

There was a dark streak, suddenly—a taint. Loki had been sitting at the kitchen table writing as Darcy bustled around teaching Sarai how to bake bread when he felt it. A small pinprick of darker matter on the edge of his consciousness. His pen slowed to a stop and hovered over the paper as he listened to the bit of ruptured magic that was gradually coming closer to his home. It was a small dose of magic. A small bit of something that had gone wrong, but still a bit of something that he thought could be a threat to his family. Loki was about to step out the back door to take care of things when he realized he recognized the magic surrounding the bit of bad.

His son. His son's magic.

His core had a pinprick of destruction in his usually utterly green magic. Green. Healing magic. The fact had been a small point of pride for Loki. The fact that his son had inherited any magic was outstanding—the fact that his son had inherited the most intrinsically good was beyond words. Yes, Loki had showed Sven some destruction. The knowledge had come in handy during points in the past, but the healing magic had been even more useful.

But now the green was shifting and Loki—for the first time in a long time—felt at a loss for words. Like the rug, the ground, previously so very firm beneath his feet, had been yanked out, earth shattered and world completely changed.

The prince stood up and watched as his son came through the door, brush pass his wife and daughter, and disappear into his room.

Darcy noticed her husband's face and hers immediately paled.

"It's fine." The stern voice he hadn't used since Asgard. The _woosh_ and firm steps he hadn't needed in years. Bounding up the steps, not looking back, not bothering to knock on his son's door.

"_Dad._" A choked half sob met his ears and boy-man arms wrapped around the god's torso.

"She's _gone._" Loki didn't need to ask who. Suddenly the sighs and years of pulling pigtails made sense.

"Son," he said, bringing up a hand to brush the mop of brown hair. "You've forgotten who your father is. We will bring her back." He looked straight into Sven's watery eyes. "That's a promise."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Thor. I am, however, swiftly falling in love with Dad!Loki.

"Now," Loki started, "dry your eyes." Sven wiped his eyes and nose with the palm of his hand. "What happened?"

"There's been this new bloke at school," Sven looked up at his dad. He was almost as tall, but would never quite be his father's height. "He started following Amy around, telling her that she was pretty and he loved her and stuff. He has only been around for a week and a half, but Amy seemed to adore him. But Dad," Brown eyes started to water again, "I _know _her. I know Amy. She would never fall for this guy. I kept trying to see if he was using some magic on her or something but he was human as far as I could tell and," another half-sob, "I just couldn't find any magic.

"She didn't come to school today. Her mom says they ran off with each other. And she doesn't seem to mind. There _has_ to be something wrong."

Loki regarded his child.

He had an idea of what had happened. This wouldn't be something easily fixed. He almost asked what his son would be willing to do to save the little neighbor, but didn't. The answer was already widely known. Now it just had to be acted upon.

"Pack your rucksack." Both knew what this meant, "I will talk to your mother."

Sven nodded and broke eye contact to glance around his room. Loki exited through the door and stepped down the stairs.

When he entered the kitchen he saw to females staring up at him, dropping all pretense of being busy. Darcy in jeans, never having lost her fondness for them. Sarai in a frilly dress, even though her classmates said she was to old for lace. Both barefoot on the tile, hands covered in flour. Loki took a mental picture.

"Sarai," He kissed the girl's forehead, "go say goodbye to your brother." Her eyes started to water, too, as she raced up the steps.

"Darcy," He took a step closer to her, wrapping one arm around her waist and bringing one hand behind her head. "My sweetheart," Her hands gripped the front of his shirt as she cried. So many tears, and it was only the beginning.

He kissed her. Her cheeks, her nose, the salt water streaming down her face, her mouth. His ink-stained hand gently tilted her chin as his mind feverishly tried to remember every taste, every smell, every feel of everything that was intrinsically Darcy.

Then there was a pounding of steps as the boy who was a little too tall for his age raced down, ready to start, and the crying sister who adored him came into the kitchen. Darcy tried to wipe the wet out of her eyes so she could have a last decent look at her husband.

And then they left. There was nothing left to say—or rather, to much. Even all the years of happiness and cuddles and walks along the pond could not tell how much he cared. Even all those words in all those years had not seemed to capture how he felt. Suddenly, now, he felt like it had all been too short. But time was out, even for morose contemplation. The had arrived at the spot behind the painted shed that the rainbow bridge had opened all those years ago.

"Heimdall," Green eyes looked at the sky, "Take us to mir mir."

The well of knowing.

It was a good place to start.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Thor. I can't seem to own long chapters, either XP

Darcy breathed, and started the first moment of the rest of her life.

She washed her hands, sending rivulets of floury water down the pipes. She dried her eyes, making them clear enough so she could dry Sarai's eyes too. And then she made a choice.

She realized there were some things Loki had tactfully not told her, things that could explain why Rai had a penchant for silk and lace and where Sven had gotten his scar, but the family was happy, and the children didn't talk of it, so she let sleeping dogs lie.

But, as she stroked her daughter's long hair she realized she had a choice. She could let Loki take care of the problem, as he always seem to do, always shouldering the issues and seemingly shielding the family from evil, or she could help. Darcy had wondered, sometimes, when the sky was dark and the moon struggled to peep under her curtains, if Loki was atoning for something. There were problems with his family, evidenced in the way the children didn't know their grandfather, and Thor was known to visit just a few times a year.

She would lay in the quiet bed beside her husband and listen to him breathe, contemplating what he was running away from. Her heart would ache, she would put a hand on his chest and hear him softly sigh through his dreams, and she would wait until the new day dawned and give Loki the chance to live this different life, always hoping he would see himself through her eyes.

She never had the words. Always just the actions.

But, now, an action was all she needed. Loki did save her. Constantly. Regularly. It was her turn to save him.

Yes, Sven needed Amy, but Sarai needed Sven, Darcy needed Loki, and Loki needed them all.

"Sarai, get your bag." A bag was packed, the door locked and cat left outside.

She would follow him to Asgard.

They got to the back of the shed after the trees and wind had already calmed down from the first opening.

"Heimdall," Voice steady, shoulders squared. "I know you can see me, and I know you can hear me. I need to get to Asgard."

A few heartbeats hit painfully inside Darcy's chest.

Then the wind swirled, and she knew he had agreed.

…...

Sven usually didn't mind traveling by the bridge. The shift of space tickled his senses and made his bit of magic feel connected to something bigger than life. He still had the same reaction, though his mind was focused elsewhere.

Loki looked a little green.

They landed under the tree canopy, just a few feet away from the well. The moss was spongy and white and comfortable under his booted feet. The only sound was of the wind dying from the portal closing.

And then there was the sound of a drip—a scant amount of water dropping into the muck at the tree's roots.

The muck was white too. Everything that had been touched by water was bleached of color. The wisdom in the water proved to be too much for the pigment in the moss and trees. At least, that was what the young prince had been told.

Loki was barely three feet high when his nurse first told him the story. There had been a scuffle, Loki's upper lip was torn, and Thor's bedroom was now infested with river rats. Loki secretly thought it was one of his better tricks.

They were sent to bed, but the nurse, feeling sorry for them, had brought tea and cookies and offered a story.

"Do you know why your father only has one eye?" She asked. She was young, but not pretty. Skinny, but in a bony sort of way. Brown hair and blue eyes would be a good thing, if only the brown hair wasn't so mousy, and the blue eyes so watery. But she had a voice, and a knack for stories. So she was well loved by the castle children.

"He gave it up for wisdom." The eye. Loki's own were wide as he stared at the nursemaid. The rats were forgotten, the lip healed. Even Thor was paying attention.

"Yes—though that is only half the story," A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "He also gave it up for love."

Loki frowned. Thor leaned forward. The nursemaid tried to cover a smile behind her hand.

"The dwarfs say he gave an eye to find the riches under the mountains," she continued, smoothing the bedspread and leaning into the eager ears. "The light elves say it was so he could make peace, and the dark elves say he wanted power. No one knows what the giants say, though the Midgardians say it was to gain knowledge of how to beat the giants. But the women of the castle know the truth—he loved your mother, Frigga," Loki sighed, hoping the whole story wasn't one of romance, "He loved her, but she was wary of him. She ran and hid in the deepest most hidden area of the worlds. He searched them all, finally coming to the roots of Yggdrasil, the tree that holds the world together." A finger pointed up for attention, "and he wept. Realizing he would never find her, the woman who was destined to reign with him. He sat under the tree for days, months, years, until his hair turned white from the water and his eyes had started to cloud over.

"Then the tree spoke. Odin thought he was dreaming, but the tree whispered things that Odin had no knowledge of, things long forgotten. So the All-father knew Yggdrasil could tell where Frigga went, and how to get there. He asked, but the tree grew silent, demanding a trade.

"So Odin took two fingers and a thumb, digging out his eye and plunging it into the milky white water. The tree rejoiced to have a piece of a god and told the young wanderer all, and more, that he wanted to hear."

She looked at the boys. "You can guess the rest." That he found his beloved and spent the rest of his days looking over one shoulder. That was the part everyone knew, but no one talked about. The sacrifice. The aftermath.

Thor always adored the story. Loki couldn't understand why Odin would give up something so valuable.

As the black-haired prince stared at the moss and mist, he began to view the story in a way he hadn't as a child. How had he missed this concept of all-enduring love? He stared at his shoes, dimly noticing that the white was already snaking tendrils up his boots, numbing his feet and taking the dark color out of the leather. He wouldn't have thought he would turn into his father. But now he was about to make the same choice.

Sven was looking at him. Waiting. Trusting. Perhaps it was the human in him that gave the boy an ability to adore his father. Perhaps it was Darcy's influence. Perhaps it was Loki's.

Loki turned his green eyes to give a small smile to his son. Then he stepped forward to kneel by the puddle. His pants began to turn white as water seeped into the fabric.

He stuck his hand in the water, asking the tree what it desired.

Gods rarely gave offerings, but when they did, the price was steep.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Thor.

Paint on the Walls

Darcy felt it.

The shift.

Like the worlds shuttered, heaved, overturned, shook, changed—a multitude of of ideas, but she still couldn't put a word to the feeling.

She had just landed in the observatory, feet firm on the ground. She looked at Sarai to make sure the travel still didn't bother her. The girl was looking around the beautiful observatory, and Darcy dimly noted that they hadn't been here since Sarai was a little girl.

Dimly, because the rest of her mind was already noting the feel of the air.

Like the beginnings of an idea that you can't fully form, or a concept you have only just begun to grasp—and then it was gone, but Darcy was left with the change and the sudden urgent, pressing need to cry. She looked at Heimdall, who was stoic as ever, and Rai, who briefly paled, but otherwise did not seem to notice.

So she swallowed her words, and her tears, and led the way across the bridge. She learned the art of silence from Loki.

Her feet made bright _pings_ of light as she walked across the colored ice. The salt wind threatened to throw the little mortals off. Heimdall watched, and ensured that they were safe.

And Loki, in his hole, the pit of the worlds, shuddered, but did not cry.

…...

Thor was pleased, as always, to see them. Jane smiled in the way that warmed Darcy's heart, making the mother feel like a child again. A child in need of Jane's hug.

"Dear sister!" Thor's booming voice and feet allowed Darcy to return Jane's smile. "It's been too long! Come, sit and eat with us. We were just talking about next week's adventure." He waggled his eyebrows at Rai. Sarai laughed a little and held on to the thought that he always spoke in exclamations.

"Thor, why don't you take Sarai to the stables?" And then, shortly after loud steps and growing laughter faded, "Darcy, what happened?"

She explained, Jane nodded, and they went to find Frigga.

…...

Loki, in his hole, by the roots of the Tree, withdrew his hands from the water. He stared at them, as if they were foreign to him. And, in a way, they were.

The palms at the bottoms of his long fingers were bleached white. The lack of color faded back into his skin tone in a misty edge along the sides of his hands. The inside wrist of his left hand, however, had a three inch bleach stain running where his blood pumped from his heart to his hand. Veins. Close to the skin. Left hand. Hand best for magic.

He flipped his hands around, checking to see if the veins in the back of his hands were affected.

His mind was gone, momentarily, as he looked at his hands. He would have stood like that forever if Sven's boots hadn't creaked when he walked over to his father.

Loki breathed through his nose. Curled his hands in a ball. Stuffed them into his pockets.

Breathe through the nose. Steady emotions.

Try to forget.

The image of the aftereffect of the giving—white-bleached hands—burned in his mind.

Try to forget.

But the image stained. White under the writer's ink stain of the middle finger of his human right hand—

Try to forget but, oh—breathe—that's a part of him gone, white/bleached/lack of color—

Left hand, god hand, more white—

"Dad?"

And suddenly he could breathe again, and he didn't forget, but remembered why he gave up the small speck of Self. ("Small speck," he would later tell Darcy. "A small part of my being. Even smaller when compared to my son.")

But his hand's were still in his pockets and it would be a few years before his skin turned back to its proper color.

"Let's go." A nod, and they walked away from the pond.

And the tree laughed.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Thor. I do now own a dog and a summer full of time!

They skipped worlds again. Two, three, more, Loki counted as he swallowed bile. Sven thought only about steadying his feet, and keeping away from feeling hopeless.

Rai was nuzzling Thor's horse.

And Frigga, mother of all, wife of a god, would not help.

She looked at Jane and Darcy from behind her spinning wheel with steady eyes.

_Steady eyes_ is what Darcy would always remember. Frigga's eyes were not worried and did not feel a need to cry for the loss of two children and a husband. Darcy, too, could not cry, but only because her emotions were so full of disbelief.

"He killed Baldr," she stated, looking back to her thread, as if the fiber's running through her hand were so much more interesting than the life of a child. Two children. "And he tried to kill Thor. I have no pity for him."

"But," Darcy was about to cry now, "but my son? You, out of everyone here, should understand—if you are unwilling to help Loki than please at least help Sven!" She was starting to feel desperate, and a little hysterical. Jane put her hand on Darcy's back, hoping to calm the mother.

"You do not need my help. Let Loki take care of his own."

And with that they were dismissed.

…...

Fells was where they landed. At least, Fells is what most people had called the planet. The mountain had no name, as far as Loki could recall.

They landed at the foot of the mountain, in the midst of a blizzard, and could not tell when the portal closed. Loki, had he been feeling more like himself, would have said something witty. Instead he stared blankly at the snow. Fells. He would have never thought to look in Fells.

He didn't look at his hands. At least in the snow everything was white.

This is when Sven, rapidly, grew up. It was the painful sort of growing up, when you have to make a decision, take control, think clearly in a new situation without realizing how this will affect your life back home (if you make it home.) He knew enough to realize his father wasn't _quite_ the same man he grew up with.

So Sven squared his shoulders, unsure if Loki would listen, but realizing someone needed to take the first step.

"Shelter," he managed to yell above the snow and wind and Loki's thoughts.

Loki nodded, unaware that his mind had been lost so deeply in himself, that his mind was digging deeper, deeper, until it was terribly far away from speaking men. He would have nodded at anything his son said.

Sven started tramping through the snow, hoping Loki would follow, Only dimly aware of all that was going on.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own Thor.

Blizzard. Howling. Bone-aching cold.

Neither knew how long they had walked, but, eventually, Loki remembered enough to say what they were there for.

"A hole," he yelled to Sven, "Magic."

Searching magic was needed, taught to him a lifetime ago, when Sarai would lose her doll and Darcy would misplace her glasses.

"Start with the heart," Loki always said that. The consistency of the phrase made Sven smile. "And think about what you most want to find. Picture it. Feel it. Smell it. Then channel magic into the image. If the object is close by, it won't take much before you begin to feel a tug in the right direction." He leaned in, "Don't tell your mother, but I used this on her several times—in Asgard—before she was interested in anything to do with me." A smile began to quirk the corner of his mouth. "She never understood why she kept running into me." Sven had grinned back. The memory felt like someone else's memory.

The entrance was very close. He followed the magic thread till it ran out; the snow mound they arrived at looking like every other snow mound at the base of the mountain. Sven dug with his bare hands to uncover the opening. He couldn't feel them anymore. Loki stared at the piles of snow his son was making. The thought couldn't occur to him that if he helped, they would get out of the cold faster.

Sven wiggled through the ragged circle and disappeared. The boy stuck his head out again to call for his dad to follow. After a few heartbeats of pausing, Loki did.

The blinding snow covered the hole almost immediately. Loki sat down in the dark and stared at the wall. Sven looked for wood in the cave to build a fire.

Of course there was none. He began to wonder if the planet even had trees. Instead he heated some rocks—magic, again—but it used too much of his energy. He fell asleep as his clothes dried out. Loki didn't sleep. He didn't have a mind to put to sleep, so he sat with his eyes open and unseeing.

A ball of red magic fell out of Loki's pocket. The tree had made it, and placed it there, though Loki hadn't noticed. The giving of the magic to Sven was the last thing that needed to happen. The yarn wasn't in Sven's hands, but it was out where he could see it. The little part of Loki's subconscious that was still hanging around and slightly processing finally let Loki's body do what it liked. The body laid down and stared at the gray rock ceiling. It closed its eyes. Its breathing became shallow. He-Loki-could sit inside his head now. If he could cry, he would, from the desperation of it all. Every part of him was now fully in his head.

Sven woke up once he started to feel the pain in his hands. He saw his father's gift—the ball of knowledge he paid some steep price for.

Sven put the heat rocks around his father's stretched out body. He didn't say anything when he left.

Sven didn't have any idea how long he followed the translucent red ball. He was only aware that it had been a long time, blood was soaking through his socks and shoes, and his feet were raw. The ball rolled just a little ahead of him, stopping when he stopped, keeping whatever pace he kept. The endeavor was hopeless. Yet, strangely, he never lost hope. It was there. An insufferable ounce that refused to be crushed. Alive solely because of the fact that his father promised, he had _promised_, everything would be alright.

Something changed, and Sven was left gasping as he was jerked out of his thoughts.

There was music, and it demanded to be heard.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own Thor. I do own a dog!

It started quietly. Just a small caustic sound at first, as if only a few musicians were playing and the rest were tuning. It quickly grew louder, till it was a pounding in his ears, a pressure on his feet, syncing his thudding heart to its rhythm.

The sound grew loud enough to reach Loki. The music had no problem winding its way through the mountain, but when it tried to reach inside Loki it couldn't find him. Oh, sure, the music found his body and his ears well enough, but couldn't find a way through his mind. Loki was lost in the middle of it, and the thrumming was stuck in the outer part of the labyrinth.

Sven breathed, and kept walking till the mountain road ended. He was at a giant wooden door. The music was playing from behind. There was laughter—and ugly kind—behind the doors. A sickly light filtered out from under the door. Sven put his hands on the door-

and

pushed.

…...

Meanwhile, Darcy had found what she was looking for. A sleeping-searching powder in Loki's study. She only somewhat knew what it could do. She knew enough to know that it would serve her purpose. She learned this a lifetime ago, when Loki tried to impress her with his magic, and she was starting to want to impress him by listening to him. He was always talking about searching magic. The making and the doing of it. It was a little odd, though neither of them realized this, that he was so good and finding other people's needs, wants, and things, but he could never really find himself or figure out what he really wanted.

She smelled some of the powder, knowing it would send her to Loki. It was more spicy than she had thought it would be, so she sneezed into the powder bowl, causing a cloud to rise up and making her breathe in more than she needed to. She didn't hit her head when she collapsed onto the cold study floor.

…...

Loki was suddenly aware of the fact that he was sitting in a wheat field. It was warm. Where had he been before this? He couldn't remember. He was doing something. He knew people. He loved people. Who?

But—ah, had wheat always swayed like that? Everything was golden. The sky was cutting blue. Had everything always been this beautiful? Had he just not noticed? The wheat moved again, like a sea wave. There was wind. There _was_ wind. How did wind work? It came in billows and then stopped. And started up again. How strange. It made his heart ache. How had he missed this before? Is this what beauty was? It was overwhelming, in a wonderful sort of way.

A dark shape was coming up to him. He didn't feel scared, or vulnerable. How could he? Everything was too lovely. He felt...

Peace.

"Loki?" Was that a name he knew? He looked at her, then smiled. He knew that dark hair. Those eyes. He did know people! Ha!

"Darcy?"

"Loki...let's go." She held out a hand to help him up.

Leave? Leave this place? With all this beauty? He loved this beauty, this peace, this place his cracked mind gave him to stay in.

Though...he loved Darcy, too. And other people, if he could remember.

He did remember, suddenly, that he was married to this girl. Married! Ha! He felt giddy. He got to see her every day. Every. Day. Ha!

He loved being with this girl more than this place. They could find other places. Beauty in other things.

He took her hand, stood up, and she led him out.

Loki woke up, alone, inside a mountain. There were some warm rocks around him. He felt refreshed, strangely enough. He leaned on his elbow and looked around.

The music was happy to have a mind to invade. Loki easily did not let it in, so the music ended up bouncing off the walls and pooling around his feet.

Loki felt Sven's dark matter shifting. He got up and took off running down the corridor. He knew he was too late.

…...

Darcy didn't wake up. Sarai, searching for her mother to tell her about the stables, found her on the floor of the study. The little girl was crying when Thor found her. Thor lifted the mother and took her to the healing rooms, hoping she would wake from her deep sleep, but knowing she needed looking after.


	10. Chapter 10

The music didn't stop because Sven walked through the door. The dancing didn't stop either, nor did the laughter.

But the pale princess did look up, and gasp, and started to cry. She was seated to his left. To her left was her betrothed, the Fells king. Old, ugly, and cruel. (He collected tears.) He stopped the dancing and the music in order to hold his vial up the the human's cheek. This was holy business. His short, wrinkled people watched. This was the nice thing about humans— they held so much water. So full of tears, just ready to drop.

She was used to this. She wasn't chained to the throne, though she had a scar from where the manacle used to be. The dress seemed to swallow her. She stared at Sven, and kept crying. She wasn't fifteen anymore. She had wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. Not smile wrinkles.

Sven was stunned, and couldn't move.

The king noticed the tears held _hope._ Oh that wouldn't do. He thought he had wrenched all the happiness out of her. He couldn't use the good ones. These would have to be discarded. What had happened to suddenly give her _hope_?

Then he noticed the boy. The king didn't even bother to change his facial expression.

"Kill him," He said.

Sven breathed, clenched his fists, and closed his eyes. He focused on his bad magic, the hurt part of his magic then—just a second before he used it—changed his mind, choosing the softer, less vicious green sparks.

They came after him, with swords and spears. He killed one of them, and took its dagger. They were a little disorganized, having to grab weapons from where they were cast-off by the wall. At first never more than two or three came at him, giving him the chance he needed to gather energy, use what little fighting skills he had to protect himself. As time continued the tile became slippery with pale blood and vomit.

Finally, his magic was ready.

The energy exploded, killing the dancers, the musicians, the fighters, the king. Not the girl. Woman. Ancient princess. Whatever she was.

_Amy._ He reminded himself. _She is just Amy_.

The candles had gone out, extinguishing the queasy light. His magic crackled a little and glowed as its remnants hung in the air.

"Sven!" She tripped out of the throne and hobbled to him. She had never forgotten him (even through all the years.) She always had the memory of the house with the boy and his sister and their cat.

She was still shorter than him, so he easily caught her when she started to fall.

She looked at him in wonder.

"You haven't aged?" She stared at him.

The puzzle piece slowly, resentfully, slipped into place.

Time ran differently on this planet.


	11. Chapter 11

"You've been gone for a day." He spat the words out. He didn't want to be having this conversation, holding a grandmother in his arms, knowing this was a life he was supposed to have had, but now it was stolen from him. The bitterness was still there. Cold and hard.

Amy was speechless. They stared at each other, uncomprehending. Not wanting to understand.

He closed his eyes and breathed. He was only supposed to be in his teens, but he felt much, much older. The chamber stank. It smelled of iron, burnt wax, and charcoal.

_Magic begins in the heart. _He heard his father's voice. _Yes,_ he replied, _The heart. So? How does that help me?_

He felt the light pressure of Amy's hands on his chest, and felt the bitter in his heart grow. A small bit of repulsion turned into deep sadness. Repulsion and bitterness were bad magics, but sadness was neutral.

And, finally, the last puzzle piece was in place. It didn't slide, or thunk into place, didn't loudly make Sven aware of itself. It was almost as if it had been there all along, only now Sven was just understanding it. He opened his eyes and concentrated on his emotions.

He forgave. He forgave Amy, for leaving. The king, for stealing. Himself, for needing to forgive, for succumbing to resentfulness. The list went on and on until the end product was reached. His magic was fully green again. The brightest, best kind of green—pure and healing.

He placed his thumb on Amy's forehead, the way he had once seen his father do to his mother. It was an old Midgardian way of blessing someone.

So he gave it away. His magic. All of it. Poured the blessing and forgiveness and healing into Amy's body and her mind and her heart until—he was empty. And happy. He understood his father, and his grandfather. With each generation the love had grown a little more.

Amy was still in his arms, gazing up at him, only this time her eyes were unclouded and her face was smooth. She looked about twenty.

Sven could feel a few wrinkles sitting on his face. How strange. They felt like crinkled paper, a little soft, but also slightly digging into his skin. Just two faint smile lines around his mouth, and a few crows feet around his eyes. His mother would tell him, later, that he inherited the crows feet from his father. He didn't look too much older, though his eyes were ancient.

He smiled a little, not remembering how to grin.

"Let's go home."

…...

Loki tripped and fell when he felt the shifting of magic. He lay, stunned, with his stomach on the rocks, trying to wrap his mind around what he had just felt. He got back up, and continued to run. He felt so out of place. Disjointed. Full of energy, but empty too. It was to much to deal with—this after effect of the giving. Right now, he just needed his son.

He met them in a hallway outside a broken wooden door. The event was over, the magic dimmed, the former children leaving the hall. The room inside was dark and empty. His eyes watered when he saw his son. He quickly grabbed him in a hug.

"I'm sorry," He whispered to his son. _I'm sorry._ It was all he could think of to say.

They left the tomb of a mountain. Loki had enough magic to get them where the keeper of the bridge could see them. They were soon in Asgard, and even sooner home.


	12. Chapter 12

Epilogue

It was an easy potion that needed to be made to wake the sleeping Darcy. Loki found his brother and daughter in the healing rooms looking after her. Thor was ecstatic things were back to normal, and Sarai was happy. He had left the exhausted Sven and Amy in the observatory.

Darcy would be sleepy, off and on, for the next few years.

Sarai lost her interest in lace dresses, after Amy told bits and pieces of her story. The truth about the Odinson family was confided to Amy, and she said she had guessed one night when she was alone, after hearing the legends the king of Fells had told about the trouble-making prince.

Amy's mother was happy to see her daughter, not noticing she was a little older. Loki let the sleeping magic lie.

Sven and Amy didn't finish at the local high school, thinking they might blend in better at a college. They were married after getting their degrees. Darcy cried at the wedding. They moved into a house in the town close to Loki and Amy opened a flower shop. Sarai was her first employee. Sven worked as an editor for a publishing company.

Loki had permanent bags under his eyes, and moved a little slower, though only Darcy noticed. His books were always turned in to be published on time. His lessons with Sarai were still filled with laughter, just less...mischief.

He held more conversations with Thor, and was asked to name his newly born nephew. The rainbow bridge became dimmed with use and had to be fixed by the gatekeeper.

Loki's heart ached a little each time he used the bridge behind the shed. The shed's painting was peeling off, after all the years that had worn it down. The picture was of a horse, and a bridge, and a few other creatures Sven had happily chatted about when he was young and painted over everything. Loki was happy to have had these moments, he told to himself, only now it is time to forget, and move on. He couldn't. Sven's age was the hardest on his father.

Until, one day, he was working on the end of a book. He had left his office to make tea and Darcy had floated through, noticed the unfinished narrative, and scribbled the last line for him.

It fit, he realized. They weren't at the end of their story, just the continuation of it. This was how life went. It hurt a little, and it wasn't perfect, but it was good, and very beautiful.

So he started writing the same line as the last line of his books. A little sentimental, perhaps, but he was to be allowed some sentimentality in his old age. And that was that.

_So they loved, and were loved, till the end of their days._


End file.
